Late Night Coffee
by Flames and Fairy Tales
Summary: Quill runs into a haggard looking Lucy while on an errand at DEPRAC for Fittes, and decides to get to the bottom of the matter. Besides, now he finally has the excuse to confront her on a matter he has been thinking about ever since the previous summer.
1. Late Night Coffee

Quill Kipps had been elated right after he was promoted to division leader, but the more nights he spent at the DEPRAC headquarters, filling out entire books' worth of paperwork about miniscule details, the more he was starting to think it was an empty title. Sure the raise in pay had been nice, and at first he had been proud to oversee the supervisors of the small teams he used to lead, but he was getting the feeling that the promotion had been an empty gesture to appease the public.

He was starting to see that initiative was not appreciated within the Fittes agency. If they could have gotten away with it, they would have punished him and his team for teaming up with Lockwood and Co without a doubt, but the endeavour had put an end to the Chelsea Outbreak though, and the public would never have accepted a direct punishment.

Instead, he was stuck with administrative work which mostly included choosing which teams to send out to which haunting, recording their every move from their oral reports, and delivering these files to DEPRAC at Scotland Yard. He had spent entire nights in the building the past few weeks, barely doing anything besides pushing around paperwork and perhaps assigning Fittes teams to work with DEPRAC, and it was grating on him

It was during his second trip to the glass and steel Scotland Yard building of that night that Quill saw her. An overworked secretary in the command centre had directed him to the waiting room with a shake of her head. He had come by so often in the past few weeks that she knew him by name. In the waiting room he opened the silver coloured folder and leafed through the stack of files one last time, checking if he'd filled in everything while he waited for an inspector to take them off his hands.

The door opened, and Quill looked up to see a familiar figure march out. Lucy Carlyle was wearing her work gear – a mixed outfit of a dark green parka over a dark skirt and torn leggings, heavy duty leather boots and woollen fingerless gloves, which almost made her look like a burglar instead of an agent. Apparently Lockwood and Co still didn't have a proper uniform- and the battle scars of a case gone wrong. That was nothing out of the ordinary for an agent at DEPRAC headquarters at this time of the night.

What was odd though, was her posture. Quill knew Lucy as a proud girl, a strong presence with a confidence that seemed to have grown with leaps and bounds since he'd first met her in the national archives a year and a half ago. Now though, she looked small and fragile, and it was not only because of the bandage on her neck and the vibrant redness of her right cheek. Her head hung low, and she seemed to struggle not to hunch in on herself. She managed to keep her gate determined, but she may as well have been dragging her feet.

"I can hardly believe I'm saying this miss Carlyle, but your actions saved the team and possibly your client's house." Barnes told her, closing the door to the interview room behind them. Lucy turned to face him, and the fluorescent lighting highlighted the dark circles underneath her eyes.

"It was no big deal," she said, and it was only because Quill sat close by that he could make out what she said.

She was a pitiful picture of an agent. And apparently Barnes thought so too, because his eyes softened and he placed a large hand on her shoulder, well away from the bandage.

"If you hadn't acted the way you did, that supervisor might have accidentally killed Mr Goodwell, miss Carlyle. If I were you, I'd see if I could file a complaint with the head of Bunchurch."

Quill frowned at that. What had Lucy been doing with a Bunchurch team? She had made no secret of the fact that she enjoyed working at Lockwood and Co and wasn't planning to leave. And she didn't seem like a person who changed her mind easily. Then his eye fell on the bulbous rucksack she was carrying, and a memory flitted through his mind.

" _I talk with ghosts. They talk to me"_

Barnes bid Lucy farewell and turned to him with a long-suffering sigh, but Quill had already gotten up and approached him. He held out the folder for the inspector to take, glancing at Lucy's retreating form. Something had happened with her, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

"It's all there," he told the DEPRAC inspector. "I trust I don't have to go through all the files with you, sir?"

Barnes moustache quivered in that way it did when the man was annoyed, but then he gave a sigh and took the folder. It was highly irregular that Fittes division leaders reported directly to DEPRAC – and Quill didn't doubt that the man had better things to do than handle the bullshit paperwork- but Quill's superiors had been quite clear, they wanted a clear line of communication with DEPRAC, and if he didn't do as they told him, he'd lose his high position just as fast as he'd gotten it.

"I doubt it will be any different from the other files you've given me the past few weeks Mr Kipps," Barnes conceded. "You be on your way then. Do us both a favour and see if you can manage to stay out of here for the rest of the night."

"I will," Quill said. Then he turned around to follow Lucy.

"Miss Carlyle!" He called, hurrying after her through the glass doors onto Victoria Street. It obviously surprised the girl to hear her name. She froze in her stride and looked around as if she expected somebody else to react to the call.

"Good evening, Miss Carlyle," he greeted her when he'd caught up with her. Lucy looked at him with a weary gaze before returning the greeting. For a moment they silently took each other in, and now that he had approached her, Quill wasn't sure what to say.

"Where are Tony and Cubbins?" he started and immediately realised it was the wrong thing to say when Lucy's jaw set and her eyes hardened.  
"I'm not in the mood Kipps," she snapped, and she was about to turn around and walk off.

"Hey, hey, I didn't mean…" he cut himself off and tried a different tactic. "You look like you could use a cup of coffee, my treat."

Lucy gave him another suspicious look, but after a moment's thought she nodded.

"Lead the way then."

Quill took Lucy to the coffee shop right across from the New Scotland Yard building. It was a small establishment with a handful of booths and tables scattered across the space in a random pattern. The wait staff was nice and quick and more importantly; it was one of the few coffee shops in Westminster that stayed open at night. In other areas of London, these kinds of cafes were dens for unsavoury people, but due to its location right across from the police station, Relicmen and even Night-watch kids generally avoided the coffee shop, which made it perfect for quiet conversations.

Lucy didn't speak as she sat down in the booth and placed her backpack between her feet. Hell, she didn't even look at him, and Quill was wondering if this whole endeavour had been a foolish idea after all. Only after the coffee had been ordered and delivered by a waitress who was way too chirpy for the time of night, did he dare to try and start a conversation again.

"So, when did you come forward with it?" Quill asked as he rotated the ear of his cup towards himself.

"Come forward with what?" Lucy was staring at her cappuccino listlessly, and for a moment Quill was worried she'd pass out right there.

"The fact that you communicate with a Type Three"

A flick had been switched. Lucy shot up so suddenly that she banged her knee on the underside of the table, making their cups rattle.

"What?" she asked sharply. Her eyes were wide and focussed on him, all previous traces of her fatigue gone.

"The Type Three," Quill repeated. "You carry it around in that backpack of yours, right?" He nudged the backpack between her feet with his shoe and watched as Lucy twitched as if somebody just yelled into her ear.

"Please don't do that," she muttered, not bothering to deny his suspicions. "How did you even know?"

"You told me," Quill answered, "but if you didn't go public with it, why are you working with other agencies? Lockwood and Cubbins are really overworking you, you look like crap."

"Wow thanks, that's just what a girl wants to hear Kipps," Lucy muttered darkly. She grabbed her little coffee spoon and gave her drink a quick stir, but didn't raise the cup to her lips. Instead, she stared down at the brown swirl she had created in the milk foam as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"But seriously, how did you know? I _know_ I didn't tell you, and we have always taken great care to make sure nobody knows."

"In the typical Lockwood and Co manner, I'm sure. Bobby Vernon has his suspicions as well you know? Said you were arguing with somebody besides Holly Munro when you were getting him out of that elevator shaft."

Lucy gave a little snort. "Please, he was so out of it he was having fever dreams about goldfish."

"You also snapped something about an evil ghost skull in your backpack while getting back to us, apparently."

Lucy stared at him for a moment and then dropped her forehead into her hands with a deep sigh.

"What makes you think that wasn't a fever dream of his?" she tried weakly.

Quill chuckled. "I would have thought it was," he admitted, "and Kat certainly believed so." In fact, the blonde girl had straight up laughed in Bobby's face when he had told them about his suspicions. "But as I said, you told me before."

"But I don't… When?" Lucy asked, lowering her hands and looking him in the eyes.

"This summer, during the whole affair with the Bone Glass, Lucy," He clarified. He raised his coffee and took a long sip of the cooling beverage. "You know, during that fiasco we call the fight with Joplin?"

"What made you think it wasn't a bluff? I was trying to save my skin back there,"

"You started talking to it after that though, when George was grappling with Joplin, and you had the mirror. And in contrast to Bobby, I was fully conscious."

Lucy opened her mouth, probably to say something scathing about his observational skills or consciousness at the time, but seemed to think better of it and closed it again.

For a moment they sat in the booth in silence and drank their coffee.

"Okay, so you didn't tell the public about your talent," Quill said after he'd drained his cup.

Lucy shook her head. "No. You know what kind of madness any psychic curiosity provokes, and I don't want to end up as some kind of DEPRAC experiment. Nor do I want any other kind of attention to be honest…"

"Okay," Quill nodded, "I get that, but why are you working with other agencies then?"

A grimace appeared on her face as she spoke, as if saying the words physically hurt her.

"I'm a freelancer."

For a moment Quill wondered if the mix of insomnia and caffeine he'd been living on for the last few weeks had finally caught up with him, because he could _not_ have heard that right.

"What do you mean, 'I'm a freelancer'? What about Lockwood?" he asked, not even bothering to try to hide his bafflement.

"I quit."

"… You quit."

"Are you a bloody parrot, Kipps? That's what I just said isn't it?"

He let the jab slide off of him without a comment, too busy staring at her in utter disbelief. It had always surprised him how loyal Lucy was to the tiny agency – she had even refused the position at Fittes he had offered her – and he had a hard time processing the fact that she had just walked out on them.

"Why? Did Lockwood hook up with the new girl or something?"

"What? He didn't! And it doesn't have anything to do with Holly!" Lucy protested, just a little too vehemently.

"I don't get it, why would you quit?" Quill asked again.

Lucy hesitated for a moment, and when she finally did speak, it was quietly.

"The Aickmere Poltergeist." She whispered the three words as if speaking them out loud would summon the Visitor into the shop, and Quill didn't blame her. It had been a few years since he had last been able to see Visitors, but the effects of poltergeists were just as clear to him as to the younger agents, and Aickmere Poltergeist had certainly provided him with nightmares for a good few weeks.

"I… I was the focus," Lucy continued, as Quill didn't reply. She looked down and fiddled with her spoon. "Holly and I had a fight and… well, I guess Bobby will have told you all about it," she continued with a forced chuckle.

"So… this _is_ about Holly?"

"No it's not! Why does everything have to be about her?" Lucy snapped. Quill held up his hands in a placating gesture and Lucy let out a long sigh.

"Sorry," she muttered softly. "But it really isn't. It's more that… my talent is really strong, and I've been having a hard time keeping my emotions in check. There are times when I don't feel like I'm in control anymore, and I don't have to tell you how dangerous that is."

And she didn't. He knew exactly what could happen when emotions ran high during a haunting, and the results were seldom good. Visitors tended to latch on to the person with the strongest talent, or the highest emotions. It was why it was relatively safe for supervisors to join in on hauntings, until fear got the better of them. Still, to think Lucy had been responsible for the poltergeist that had turned a whole department store on its head was rather humbling.

She _was_ powerful then. But still, couldn't her friends help her with that? From what Quill had seen at Fittes, it was easiest to train young agents with strong talents when they were in a familiar environment with people they trusted to watch their backs. Wasn't Lucy taking a big risk by leaving her friends?

"How does leaving help with that?" he asked.

"It keeps the others out of danger," Lucy replied immediately, but her answer sounded forced and Quill wasn't convinced that was her whole reasoning for making the decision.

"Would they not have been able to help you train?"

A flicker of _something_ passed over Lucy's face, but then she schooled her expression again.

"Why do you even care Kipps? You don't like any of us."

"I care because you look about ready to collapse, and chances are you will hurt yourself for real if you don't let somebody in soon. So, seeing as you are apparently abandoning your friends…"

"I'm a danger to them," she said with an air of finality. It was clear that she didn't want to discuss it further, but Quill wasn't ready to lay off just yet.

"They're agents, Lucy. They know how to protect themselves, and being on your own obviously isn't doing you much good."

For a moment the familiar spark of defiance flared up in her hazel eyes, and Quill wondered if she would finally explain her decision, but then she looked back down.

"It's the best decision," she whispered, and Quill was about ready to tear his hair out. Why couldn't she just tell him what was going on?"

"But _why_?"

"Because I would get him killed!"

…Ah. Now they were getting somewhere. Quill had managed to push past her emotional walls, and while he felt a little bad for the way her eyes glimmered with tears, he was glad she was finally opening up. He didn't have to ask whom she meant.

"He is always risking his life for me, and there have been so many close calls… I couldn't live with myself if he-" she stopped speaking abruptly and wiped at her eyes with an almost angry gesture. "My presence put the team at risk. It was the best decision," she repeated, and if she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as well as Quill, he didn't call her out on it.

There was another beat of silence neither of them seemed to dare break until Lucy suddenly cocked her head as if listening to a far away voice. When Quill focussed, he felt the barest hint of psychic energy, and he realised the ghost in her backpack was speaking to her.

"I've got to go," she muttered and got up. She rummaged in her pocket, presumably to dig up money to cover her part of the bill, but Quill held up a hand.

"I've got it," he told her, and pulled a tenner out of his wallet. He placed the money on their table and then got up as well.

"You don't have-"

"It's fine Lucy," Quill interrupted. "I told you it was my treat, and I make more than enough money to cover that one cappuccino you drank."

"Well, thank you then…" She said quietly.

"It's fine," Quill assured her again, and then without really knowing why, he added, "Listen, if you ever need to talk to somebody, I'd be willing to listen."

Lucy's eyes grew wide, but after a moment she nodded.

"Thank you, Quill. I'll keep that in mind"

The two of them left the little coffee shop together, and paused in the squares of light on the pavement, that shone through the shops large windows.

"Well," Lucy began her goodbye awkwardly, "thank you for looking out for me tonight. Good night…"

She started to walk away when Quill called out for her.

"Lucy, I know I'm not exactly his friend, but I've known Tony- Lockwood, for a long time. You might believe your decision protects him, but I think it just might have the opposite effect."

 **A/N: It's always been my personal head canon that Quill knows about the fact that Lucy can communicate with Type Threes, and the idea of him confronting her with it has been in my mind for quite some time now.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this fic, let me know whether you would want me to expand on this universe alteration in a comment!**


	2. Morning Caffeine

The buzzer of the door cut through the silence of the flat and tore Quill from his sleep. For a moment he just lay in his bed, wondering if whoever it was would go away if he didn't react. He had gone straight to bed after coming home last night – or rather that morning – and if it were up to him he would have spent the next four hours in bed as well, only getting up when it would be time for supper. But the buzz of the intercom system didn't stop after three rings; the sharp sound still rang out across his two-room flat. It was impossible to ignore, so Quill groggily dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the door in the living area.

"Who is it?" he asked after picking up the phone of the intercom system, quietly suppressing a yawn.

"It's Jameson, Mr Kipps," the doorman started hesitantly, "there is a young lady coming up for you."

"A young lady?" Quill repeated. He frowned as he tried to recall if he was expecting anybody. As far as he was aware if he hadn't missed an appointment with a female agent, in fact, he was sure he was free until he had to lead another team that evening. "Did she give her name?"

"No, she didn't. I'm sorry, but I don't know who she is Mr Kipps. She asked for the number of your apartment, but barely listened to the answer. Didn't let me stop her either, stormed right past me."

"Let me guess, short brown hair, dark boots, and a skirt?"

"Yes, you do know her then?" the doorman asked. He sounded relieved, the traitor. Knowing Lucy Carlyle didn't necessarily make her easier to handle.

"I do," Quill sighed. "Thanks for warning me."

He put the horn down and tried to decide what was more important; getting dressed properly or making himself a mug of coffee. He glanced down at himself and then made his way to the kitchenette. If he was going to have to deal with Lucy right after waking up, he would need a strong black coffee. If she didn't want to see him in jogging bottoms and a tank top, she shouldn't drop by without a warning. Now she would have to deal with it.

Quill had just finished making his coffee and was about to open the fridge to scavenge for something to make a quick breakfast with when there was a loud knock on the door. He suppressed a sigh, grabbed his mug from the counter and went to open it. He had barely opened the door half way when Lucy stepped into his flat. The girl was looking quite frazzled with her cheeks flushed with exertion from walking up the four flights of stairs, her dark hair full of fly-aways, and her eyes underlined by large bags. It seemed like Quill wasn't the only one who had had a late night.

Lucy's pent up energy (was it anger? Frustration?) seemed to melt away when she entered his home and took a moment to take in his flat. Her eyebrows rose as her gaze slid over the small eating area near the kitchenette, the sofa in front of the glass coffee table and the small TV on his oak sideboard. Quill silently wondered if he should be offended that she was so surprised about his interior design.

"Hello Lucy," Quill greeted. His voice snapped her out of her reverie and she turned her attention from the pictures on his wall to him. Her eyes widened as she took in his clothing, and though he couldn't say whether her cheeks flushed further because they were already red, she was silent for a moment. Then she opened her mouth.

"Aren't you cold?"

He didn't have a retort ready immediately, instead he stared at her without a word for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. The girl was a lot of things, but predictable wasn't one of them.

"I'm assuming you did not barge past my doorman and up to my flat to judge my sleepwear Lucy?" he asked her. Lucy shook her head, both as an answer and to shake away the distractions, and took a deep breath.

"Why didn't you warn me Quill?" she asked. She tried to put bite into her voice, but apparently entering his living space had thrown her off balance, because the snappish tone wasn't convincing.

"Warn you about what?" Quill shot back, nursing his coffee.

"Penelope Fittes hiring Lockwood and Co."

Quill raised his eyebrows as he looked at her. "I didn't actually know about that Lucy."

"What do you mean, you didn't know?" Lucy asked. "Aren't you all high up the agency ladder?"

The snort he let out in response to that probably sounded harsher than necessary because he saw her wince a little at the sound.

"Lucy, we both know I hold an empty position, at best. I just spend the night in Rotherhithe sewers for heaven's sake." His stint as a glorified administration clerk had shown what his superiors thought of him clearly, but Lucy had actually been the first one to vocalise his suspicions about the position being more of a punishment than a reward. "And besides, how is who is hiring Tony any of your business? You left."

A grimace flashed over her face, but she schooled her expression and met his questioning gaze head on.

"It's my business, because Lockwood showed up on my doorstep an hour ago," she explained.

Well damn. He should have known she wouldn't just show up because he hadn't told her all the latest gossip of the Fittes Agency, but her words still took him by surprise. He rubbed his face, trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to one of the dining chairs around his kitchen table that doubled as a desk. Lucy shrugged of her coat and hung it around the back of a chair before sitting down, carefully putting aside the binders and loose papers scattered on the wooden surface.

"I was _not_ prepared for him to-"

"Ah!" Quill held up his hand to silence her, and downed the remainder of the coffee. He was going to need caffeine for this.

Quill felt Lucy's eyes on him as he walked to the counter of his kitchenette and grabbed the coffee pot.

"How much coffee do you drink exactly?" she asked as he refilled his mug.

"I'm not going to justify myself to the girl who lived off of take out food for an entire month," he shot back without looking back at her. "Do you want some?"

"Hey, I've been cooking lately!" Lucy protested. He gave her a flat stare, which made her cheeks flush again. "Most of the time," she amended sheepishly. "I'd like that cup of coffee."

They lapsed into silence as Quill went about making a second cup of coffee for Lucy. The familiar actions gave him time to order his thoughts a bit. So Lockwood had shown up at her flat that morning, no wonder she was upset. Knowing the two off them, Lockwood probably had caught her completely off guard, just like she had done to Quill. He yawned as he took the little jug of cream out of the fridge, and silently calculated how much sleep he had had. The answer was roughly four hours. He silently prayed that the coffee would kick in soon.

"Thanks Quill." Quill nodded in reply and sat down in the chair across from Lucy. He watched in amused silence as she poured nearly all the cream into her mug, turning the black liquid a pale brown before taking a tentative sip. Apparently the taste was to her liking, because a small smile appeared on her face and she took a bigger gulp of coffee.

"Can I tell you what happened now?" Lucy asked, putting her mug back down and wrapping her hands around it.

"Go ahead."

And so Lucy started her story. Quill listened intently as she explained how she'd been woken up after a rough night by a knock on the door, and had gone to open it to find Lockwood.

He didn't interrupt as she told her story, instead nodding along and silently processing the things she said. Halfway through he got up to refill their coffee, and while Lucy frowned at him when he did so, she didn't protest.

"So he manipulated you," Quill concluded after she was done talking. He leant back in his chair and watched for her reaction. Lucy's eyes grew wide.

"Manipulated me?" she repeated. Her voice was unsure as if she didn't comprehend what he had just said. Quill nodded.

"Yes, into agreeing to the job."

"It wasn't like that!" She protested, "he didn't-"

"Okay, maybe manipulation is a bit of a strong word," Quill amended, "What I'm saying is that if it had been Cubbins, Munro, or god forbid Penelope Fittes herself who had shown up on your doorstep this morning, you'd sent them on their way with a resolute no. No matter how well they'd spun the proposal. You said yes because it was Lockwood who came asking for you."

"But he…" Lucy's voice trailed off. Her face had grown a few shades paler, and Quill could almost see the cogs in her head move.

"I'm not saying he has ill intentions Lucy. I'm not even sure he was aware of it."

"How can you not know you're manipulating somebody?" Lucy's voice had risen a little, and she took a deep breath to regain her self-control.

"Lockwood is used to getting what he wants, he has a way of talking, you must know that by now." Lucy gave a little nod in reply. "His biggest flaws are that he is conceited and rash-" Lucy opened her mouth to protest again, but he didn't let her cut him off "-I'm not saying that just because we don't get along Lucy, it's simply the truth. And it doesn't necessarily make him a bad person, but it's something you need to keep in mind when you're dealing with him. For some reason, he wants you for this job. Maybe he misses you, maybe Miss Fittes asked for you."

Lucy's eyebrows knitted together as she thought his words over. "Is there a point to your little speech, Quill?"

"Yes, the point is that he needs you for this job, so you hold power in this situation as well. You need to make sure he doesn't just steamroll right over your wishes."

Lucy stared down at her now empty mug, slowly twirling the teaspoon around while she thought his words over.

"He does tend to do that," she whispered, as if the admission pained her. The spoon chinked against the ceramic. "Hey Quill?"

"Hmm?"

"What's the Fittes policy on working with other agencies?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does a representative need to be present?"

And that was how Quill Kipps found himself waiting in front of number 7 The Leas the following day. He stood near the well-kept hedge of the property, fiddling with the key on its leather strap in a weak attempt to distract himself from the looming presence of the haunted house he would enter soon.

When he finally spotted Lockwood and Co (plus Lucy), he crossed his arms and stepped away from the hedge.

"Nice to see you Quill! How's tricks?" Lockwood called out. As always, the young man's smile was somewhat exaggerated, and Quill fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Before you say anything, I didn't ask to be given this job," he replied, shooting a glare in George Cubbins' direction. The lie slipped off his tongue easily, just like the irritated tone he'd told it with. "I dislike the idea just as much as you do, let's just be clear about that.

They exchanged some more banter and then made their way up to the porch of the house where Lockwood started giving orders to make a small chain circle with a lantern inside it, an outer line of defence. While Holly and George were busy with that, Lucy walked across the freshly cut lawn to look through one of the large windows. As nobody was paying attention to either of them, Quill walked after her.

"The things I do for you…" He sighed when he stood next to her, "I used up the last of my favour with Fittes to get put on this case."

"Thank you, Quill," Lucy whispered, not looking up from the window, "I really appreciate this."

Quill stayed quiet for a moment. "I know you do Lucy. You're welcome."

 **A/N: Here is the second chapter! As you can see, I'm do not have one continuous plot, although all these snippets do take place in the same universe. I've got a few more scenarios in mind, but I'm also open to suggestions, so let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!**


	3. Coffee vs Tea

"So, is there any particular reason you feel like committing suicide by Ghost Touch, Tony?" The moment the words had left his mouth, Quill felt like kicking himself. This was not the way he had wanted to broach the subject, but the silence in the cab had felt like it was smothering him until it was all he could do to break it. They were sitting in the backseat of a night cab together. Holly Munro was sitting next to the driver, a bald, broad-shouldered man with a thick Cockney accent who spoke too much and too fast as if that would hide the fact that being out at night terrified him.

Whether she wanted to be as far away as she could from the silver net covered jar of teeth that was the source of the haunting they had just solved, or from her brooding employer, Quill wasn't sure, but he couldn't blame her. The night in the Guppy house had taken its toll on everyone. The younger agents had been pushed to the brink by the things they had seen and heard in that house, and Quill by what he _hadn't._

Without a doubt, the worst part of the evening was when they had drawn out the ghost though. It had worked brilliantly, the jar sitting on the backseat in between him and Lockwood was the proof of that, but Quill was sure that everyone present had aged a decade in the process. He had ached to drag Lockwood out of the house by the scruff of his neck and give him a good rollicking for the stunt he had pulled, but as an observer it hadn't been his place. That didn't mean he couldn't question the younger agent now though, so he waited for Lockwood's reaction.

Anthony Lockwood turned away from the window he had been staring out of listlessly to give him a sharp, calculating look. It was as if he was daring him to take the question back, but now that it had been said, Quill didn't want to.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lockwood said. His voice was cool and steady, carefully controlled not to reveal any emotion by its tone or volume. There was a twitch in his cheek that betrayed him though, his poker face breaking slightly under the pressure of exhaustion and emotional turmoil.

"Don't start, Lockwood," Quill shot back, dropping the antagonising nickname. "What you did back there was insane."

"It worked" Lockwood had resumed his earlier position and was staring out of the window again, watching the dark streets of London pass by in a blur of rain and Ghost Lamps. He was holding his hurt arm close to his chest as if to close himself off from the conversation.

Quill wasn't deterred. During his time as a supervisor he had gotten quite skilled in dragging unwilling teenagers into a conversation, and Lucy had given him quite some practice too in the past few months. Of course, the difference was that Lucy had come to like his company over time, and would now divulge her thoughts without too much prompting.

"What would have happened if George hadn't gotten out the source when he did? You took a huge risk, Lockwood."

"Again, it paid off didn't it?"

"It did," Quill reluctantly agreed, "but there were other options back there, options that didn't put your life at immediate risk."

"Like what?" Lockwood was still turned away from him, but Quill met his eyes in the reflection of the window.

"Putting a length of chains in the threshold of the kitchen to slow the Visitor down, like the manual prescribes for instance," Quill started, counting on his fingers. "Locking it in the hallway by spreading salt on the floor. Using iron filings. Hell, even going in with two operatives instead of pulling the lonesome hero act would most likely have worked."

Lockwood gave a half hearted shrug that made Quill want to reach out and shake him. "Lockwood you can't be so callous about your life, you put yourself in unnecessary da-"

"You are not my supervisor Kipps!" Lockwood bit suddenly, turning back around to look at him. "You were along as an observer. It's not your place to give your opinion, and I certainly didn't ask for it!"

"Well you are getting it anyway!" From the corner of his eye, Quill saw Holly turn around in her seat and cast a worried look at the backseat at their raised voices, but he didn't pay her any mind. "This isn't just about you throwing your life away, Lockwood! You are the leader of a team, it is your responsibility to keep your employees safe! How are you going to protect George and Holly when you are dead?"

"I'm not going to die,"

"That isn't for a lack of trying!"

The cab came to a sudden halt, and for a moment Quill wondered if the driver had decided to throw them out before they came to blows on his backseat. Then he saw Lockwood fish some cash out of his pocket and hand it through the latch before opening the door, and he realized they had reached the furnaces. With a sigh he grabbed the revolting source and got out too.

Holly didn't give them a chance to start their argument again, marching towards the pedestrian entrances of the furnaces with surprising speed for her short stature. Lockwood was able to keep up with his long legs, but Quill was forced to rush after them, hurriedly handing off his rapier and rushing across the cobblestoned courtyard. He rolled his eyes in annoyance; he was the one with the source they needed to hand off.

Quill had half a mind to walk to Harold Mailer's booth just to annoy Lockwood. The blond furnace worker was notorious for his nervous, skittish behaviour. He would stammer and twitch, over complicate the process of handing off sources and generally make a fool of himself. Quill didn't particularly enjoy dealing with him either, but Lockwood in all his self possessed confidence, disliked the boy with a passion.

He decided against it. They had all had a long night and despite his misgivings with Lockwood's attitude, Quill didn't actually want to get into a fight with him right now. So he walked up to the booth where Lockwood and Holly were waiting and plonked the jar down on the counter.

"Joined venture between Fittes and Lockwood and Co?" The bloke behind the counter - Christie, according to the nametag pinned to his work clothing- raised an eyebrow as he reached for a stack of forms. "I thought Lockwood and Co was independent?"

"We are," Lockwood said, his voice a little sharp. "We took a commision from miss Fittes, Kipps is just an observer."

"One who needs to sign off on those forms," Quill interjected. Christie nodded and went through the papers, asking for the specifics of the capture and writing them down in barely legible scrawls.

"Seems like this one's quite the nuisance," he concluded as he handed over the authorisation form to Quill.

"yes, it really was," Holly said with feeling, "that ghost was a _terrible_ nuisance." she gave a little shudder at the memory.

Quill shrugged and signed the form with a quick flick of the wrist. Now they were long done with the job, most of his concern was taken up by Lockwood's behaviour instead of the cannibal ghost he couldn't see or hear, anyway. It felt better to focus his attention on a problem he _was_ able to deal with, instead of lingering on the terror of unsensed entities.

"Can we leave the thing with you? It's been a long night and I think we would all like to get home," Quill said as he shoved the forms back towards Christie. The furnace attendant quickly checked all forms again before stamping the stack.

"Sure, if you don't have to witness the burning. It will be done in a tick though."

Quill shot a look at Lockwood and Holly. They both looked exhausted even if Holly managed to hide it behind a polite smile.

"We're sure," he decided. Stuff the regular procedure.

If Lockwood was grateful to leave, he didn't show it. He hadn't spoken much inside the reception hall and continued his silence while they walked back out the door and onto the cobblestones of the courtyard. He walked fast, his coat flapping a little in the drizzle. With a sigh Quill hastened his pace.

"We weren't done talking yet, Lockwood," he said, making a grab for the Lockwood's shoulder. Lockwood dodged him skilfully and turned around, glaring at him through the lock of hair that was starting to curl because of the humidity.

"I think we were," he spoke. He seemed to have repressed his anger again during the few minutes they had been inside, stuffed it deep inside a corner of his heart and slammed the door closed. He was standing in the middle of the courtyard calmly now, watching him with those dark, calculating eyes.

"No we aren't, I want an explanation for your suicidal beha-,"

"Tough luck." Lockwood cut in, without so much as raising his voice. "You were along as an observer, I don't owe you anything."

"Perhaps you don't owe me," Quill conceded, "But I'm not the one who is most influenced by your recklessness. What do you think it would do to your employees if you die? What it would do to Lucy?"

Quill had a split second to realize what a good policy it was that the furnaces required them to hand off their rapiers. If Lockwood had had his sword, he would probably have had a more severe injury than the small bruise that would bloom up where Lockwood's knuckles had grazed his cheek.

"Shut up!" The young man roared as Quill stumbled back. Somewhere behind him Holly let out a squeak of alarm, but he knew better than to take his eyes off of Lockwood right now. "You don't know anything about us!" Lockwood continued, not lowering his volume in the slightest. "You don't know anything about _me_!" He rushed forward to shove Quill, but Quill dodged him and grabbed his arm.

"Don't I?" Quill questioned, trying not to feel guilty for the way Lockwood flinched under his grasp. It was the injured arm he was holding, which meant it probably hurt Lockwood more than he had intended. Then again, Lockwood had charged him, he was defending himself. "I know you like to pretend to be all in confident and in control. I know you're holding the people you call your friends at an arm's length distance because you are afraid off showing your feelings." Quill was staring right into Lockwood's eyes and watched as the young man went even paler than he already was.

"I'm not-"

"You are," Quill cut off the protest before it could even start properly. He let go off Lockwood's arm, and Lockwood stumbled backwards a few steps. Holly was standing a little way behind them, afraid to come closer but unsure whether she needed to call somebody to break up the fight.

"And you know what, that's your own baggage to deal with. I honestly couldn't care less. But you are hurting your team - your friends - with your behaviour, and if I am the one who has to call you out on your bullshit, so be it."

Lockwood didn't reply. He stared at Quill for a moment, his eyes hard and cold. Then he turned around and marched towards the exit of the furnaces without so much as a backwards glance in Quill's direction.

Holly finally came closer, worrying her lip and glancing at Lockwood's retreating form.

"Go after him," Quill told her, trying to make his voice sound light. God was he tired.

"But... are you alright?" Holly asked, glancing at his cheek. Quill touched it with his fingers and winced as pain bloomed under the light touch, but they didn't come back wet.

"I've had worse," he decided. "You should go after him, make sure he gets home safe."

Holly hurried after her boss, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the courtyard. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the rain as he waited until he was sure that Lockwood and Holly were long gone.

God, he prefered dealing with Lucy.

 **A/N: Taking a little detour to examine the relationship between Quill and Lockwood instead of focusing on Lucy. I've had trouble with my laptop, but it seems like it has been solved now, so I hope to write more soon!**


	4. Cup of Comfort

Quill's heart was firmly lodged in his throat when he pressed the buzzer next to the black front door at the end of that morning. He had barely slept the past few days, and he he would soon need to give into the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him, but he couldn't bring himself to even take a power nap before checking everywhere he could think of.

The feeling of dread had been building ever since the DEPRAC agent-team he had been leading on behalf of the Fittes agency was called in to escort a group of police officers to examine a crime scene in Clerkenwell. The initial report was about a nightly disturbance involving a magnesium flare and a conservatory in Clerkenwell, but when they arrived, they found traces of a chase that lead back over a garden wall, through a dilapidated vicarage, and into the old churchyard of St James Church, where the cold body of Harold Mailer sat on a bench.

Quill had been of little use during the first examination of the scene. The find of the body had shaken him to the core and planted the first seeds of worry that would grow into barely staved off panic as time passed. He stood on the sideline, frozen, while the agents under his leadership scanned the area for signs of the new ghost, and covered Mailer with a silver threaded sheet after the police officers had taken photos.

He didn't know where Lucy was.

The prior morning Lucy had called him from a payphone in Clerkenwell. She told him she had been robbed of the ghost skull that morning and had an inkling about who was involved with the theft. Quill had gathered she would meet up with Harold Mailer in the little churchyard to receive information.

Of course it relieved him that Lucy's body hadn't been sitting besides Mailer's on that stupid bench in the middle of the old graveyard, but there were obvious signs of a struggle - footsteps in the tall grass, a broken window in the vicarage, and worst of all: blood on the garden wall - and Lucy was missing. Chances were that the people who had killed Mailer had gone after her, and he wasn't sure she had escaped them.

Quill's mind had gone into overdrive, coming up with all kinds of scenarios that ended with Lucy dead in a back alley some, and the moment the DEPRAC team finished up the crime scene investigation, he took off to search for her. In the following hours he went to the locations he knew she frequented, stopping by the cafe they'd meet up for coffee now and then, checking the gym she used to practise her rapier work, and even going back to his own flat in the hope she had looked for shelter there.

When he still had not found her nearly twelve hours later, Quill was getting desperate. 35 Portland Row was his last stop before he was going to go back to DEPRAC to report her missing so that they could launch an official investigation.

The door opened a few moments after Quill had pressed the buzzer, but they felt like centuries to his racing mind. George Cubbins was the one who opened the door, appearing in the opening. He looked the way he always did, but now the strange stains on his sweater were accompanied by a suspicious look in his eyes as he recognised who was standing on the doorstep.

"Is she here?" Quill asked before George could even open his mouth.

"Is who here? Did your girlfriend run away Kipps?" George snarked, and anger boiled up in Quill's chest.

"Just _don't_ , Cubbins, I am not in the mood for your shit," he growled. "Is Lucy here?" The expression on George's face changed. The tiny quirk of the corner of his mouth melted away and made place for cold suspicion.

"Why does Lucy's location matter to you, Kipps?" he asked, a sharper edge creeping into his voice.

"Because DEPRAC found the corpse of the man she was supposed to meet on a bench last night, and she's been missing ever since. That's why," Quill snapped back, "If she's not here just tell me and I'll be on my way again."

George opened his mouth to speak - perhaps to tell Quill to get lost - but then Lockwood appeared out of a door further down the hallway.

"Who is at the door, George?" he asked, adjusting his tie.

"Quill Kipps," George called back, not even bothering to hide the disdain in his tone.

There was a screech of wooden chair legs on linoleum, and a head was stuck around the door post of the room Lockwood had just appeared out of.

"Quill?" Lucy asked, and the relief that flooded through Quill as he heard her voice almost made his knees buckle. He shouldered his way past George, who protested loudly, and made his way towards the younger girl.

The two of them were never really touchy-feely with each other, preferring to keep their personal space intact, but Lucy didn't protest when he pulled her into his arms. She returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him a short squeeze.

"What happened to you last night, Lucy?" Quill asked her as he let go. Lucy stepped back, and wiped her hair out of her face, revealing her expression. She did not look good. She was as bruised as a fallen apple, grazes and scrapes littering her exposed skin, and her arm was tightly bandaged with white medical gauze. He could also read her exhaustion from her face, the bags under her eyes were worse than even his, and her expression was subdued.

And yet, she looked more alive than she ever had since he had gotten to know her in the past few months. Despite her beaten up state, there was a glimmer in her eyes that he had only seen once before, two days earlier, when she had been working with Lockwood and Co on the Ealing Cannibal case.

"I found Harold," Lucy said softly, "I went to meet him at the time we agreed on, but he was already-" She broke off and swallowed audibly. "I spoke to his ghost, he said something about 'the place of blood'... God, I didn't even report it, he was there all night"

"He wasn't," Quill assured her. "I was with the team that found him. But maybe we shouldn't be having this conversation standing in the middle of a hallway."

Lucy nodded and already turned around to lead him further into the house when she hesitated. She glanced at Lockwood and George - who were standing near a side table with a crystal skull lamp on it, watching her and Quill with undisguised incomprehension - and then back at Quill. She had realized it wasn't her place to invite him into the house anymore.

Lockwood recognized her embarrassment too. He shook off his bafflement as easily as if he were taking off his coat, and swept forward.

"Would you join us for a cup of tea, Kipps?" he asked in an impressive attempt to sound cordial, despite their last meeting ending with a blow. Lockwood brushed past and heading towards the door he and Lucy had appeared out of earlier.

"I'd prefer coffee actually," Quill muttered as he followed along.

The kitchen of 35 Portland Row was strange, to say the least. Fruit bowls and cereal boxes competed for space with satchels of salt and iron, a forgotten kitbag lay beside the stove and the white tablecloth on the table was covered in doodles and messages that ranged in topics from grocery lists to case notes. Quill gave a little snort at the sight. Yeah, this was _exactly_ what he expected from Lockwood and co, the kitchen was an absolute mess. And yet, he had to admit that it had a certain charm.

"You look terrible Quill," Lucy said as she sat down at the table. Lockwood busied himself with making coffee and putting on water for tea, but Quill suspected that he was listening to every word. George was having a harder time shaking off his surprise, and he walked past them with a dark expression on his face, disappearing into an unobtrusive door that lead down to the basement.

"Thanks Lucy," Quill replied to Lucy's remark, biting back a small smile at the way her blush bloomed across her cheeks when she realized how rude her comment sounded. "That's what happens when you spent the night searching for someone. Didn't exactly have time to go home to shave and take a nap." Which meant he was left with dark bags under his eyes, messy hair from running his hand through it one too many times, and scratchy stubble, but he was too happy to have found Lucy to care much about his disheveled appearance.

"No, I mean…" Lucy pointed to a spot on her own cheek, and Quill realized she was talking about the bruise he had gained two nights ago.

"Oh, that." He had forgotten about the small injury, but his stubble wasn't enough to hide the now purple spot on his cheek. He shot a quick glance in Lockwood's direction. The young man had stiffened up and Quill wondered what would happen if he told Lucy the truth. Deciding it was best not to pick at that particular scab, he turned back to Lucy.

"Got hit during a job" he said shortly.

"What? Why?"

"It… the client didn't like the way I was trying to make a point. It's not important."

Lucy seemed unsure on whether she should drop the topic or not, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

"But-"

"It's fine. I'm more worried about you, Lucy. What happened last night?" Quill asked her again, changing the topic and picking their previous conversation back up again.

Lucy cast her eyes down to the table cloth, a dark shadow passing over her face.

"It was a set up," she started slowly, "somehow they found out Mailer talked to me, or maybe- maybe they were already planning to…" her voice died and she had to swallow again before she could continue. "He was already dead when I arrived, and after talking to his ghost, three men showed up and I ran. They were probably there all along, but I hadn't noticed them. God I should have known…"

Lucy bit her lip, unable to speak more, and wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to protect it. Quill recognized the look on her face, the way she avoided his eyes and bend under an invisible weight that forced her to hunch in on herself. How often had he looked like that himself, he wondered, after losing a teammate, or one of the children under his supervision?

"Don't do that to yourself, Lucy," he said softly, trying to pull her out of her thoughts before she got lost in them. It was never good to dwell on the deceased, it led your mind to dark places. It was so easy to drown in grief and self loathing and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that came with the unexpected death of an acquaintance, and he wasn't about to let Lucy taste the bitterness that had tainted him. "You were not the one who ended his life,"

"He was there because of me," Lucy tried, but Quill resolutely shook his head.

"No, he was there because he let greed get the better of him," he said adamantly. For a moment Lucy didn't react,, but then she gave a shallow nod and wiped her hair away from her face, revealing a scrape he hadn't seen before in the process.

Lockwood chose that moment to turn around and hand Quill his cup of coffee. He gave Lucy a mug of steaming tea and poured himself one too, but didn't move to sit down with them. Instead he leant against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles watching them with a carefully blank face. Quill raised an eyebrow at him, but Lockwood turned his face away to avoid his gaze.

With a roll of the eyes Quill turned back to Lucy, who was too busy staring at her mug to have noticed the exchange between them.

"Where did you go after escaping those men?" he asked her.

"Here," Lucy replied, "I couldn't go home. Those people had taken the skull, they know where I live."

For a moment all he could do was stare at her. "It's over three miles from Clerkenwell to Marylebone," he said after a moment. "Three miles, and you traveled all that way with a knife wound? Why not go to a police station? Hell why didn't you go to my flat? I showed you where the key and the first aid kit are."

Finally the studious unconcern on Lockwood's face slipped. His expression grew darker, and when he finally spoke there was a sharp edge to his voice that Quill hadn't heard since they had made that stupid bet about the boneglass the summer before. "There will always be a safe place for Lucy at Portland Row, Kipps."

"I'm sure, Tony" Quill said dryly, "but my flat is about a mile away from the Fittes Furnaces." That was logic couldn't refute, and he turned his attention back to his tea, the top of his ears growing a little red.

"I didn't think about it," Lucy said. "Besides, it was the middle of the night, you were out working and I quite literally was a bloody mess. Would your doorman even have let me in?"

Quill snorted. "As if you'd let Jameson stop you, you've slipped past him before. Besides, it's a nightwatch kid that watches the the lobby during the night, they tend to focus more on the dead than the living."

She flushed at that, probably remembering the way she had stormed into his flat two days prior, and took a quick sip of her tea.

"I didn't think about it," she repeated again, "I was scared and tired, and I knew Portland Row would-" she didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't have to, for once Quill felt like he could see straight through her. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he bit it back and tried to sound scolding.

"It would have been wiser to go somewhere closer Lucy." he said sternly. She gave a solemn nod. "But I'm glad you are okay."

The conversation lapsed after that as each of them focussed on their beverages. Lockwood had made a good cup of coffee, but the caffeine wasn't enough to stave off the exhaustion that was slowly catching up with Quill now that he wasn't spurred on by worry and adrenaline anymore. He caught himself nodding off above his nearly empty mug, and quickly finished it.

"You should go to DEPRAC, Lucy," Quill said as he put his mug on the table, covering a note about the inner workings of a Rotwell gadget he didn't understand. Lockwood looked up sharply, but Lucy was frowning at him too.

"To DEPRAC?" she repeated. "What for?"

"They are looking for the agent involved with last night's incident," Quill explained, "the homeowners whose conservatory you blew up have given a description, and it will only be a matter of time before Barnes connects the dots and comes knocking. It's better to go yourself and give a statement."

"But I can't just go up to them and say I wanted to talk to Mailer about black market stuff! Me owning a Type Three is probably illegal in _ten_ different ways!" Lucy protested. Lockwood's eyes widened as he processed that Quill knew about the skull, but didn't say anything.

"I'd say about twenty," Quill said with a snort, and Lucy rolled her eyes.

"Exactly my point, I can't go there and incriminate myself."

"I never said you had to."

"What are you suggesting then?" Lockwood asked, joining in on the conversation for the first time. His voice wasn't sharp anymore, but suspicion still shimmered through in his tone.

"It's quite simple." He paused for a moment. "You were meeting him for a date."

Both Lucy and Lockwood stared at him as if he had just set water on fire.

"A date?" Lucy repeated rather disbelievingly.

"Yes. It's a known fact among the furnace workers - if not half the agents of London - that Harold Mailer had a major crush on you, Lucy."

Quill chuckled softly as Lucy's cheek slowly grew a brilliant red colour that rivaled that of a strawberry.

"I… I don't- On me?"

"Yes, that's not so hard to believe is it? You're an interesting girl," Quill said. Lockwood nodded his head in agreement before catching himself, and Quill could swear the tips of his ears were growing darker too.

"Point is, it wouldn't be that strange for a young agent and a furnace worker to meet after dusk in Clerkenwell, one of London's safer areas, if they were supposed to go on a date."

"I suppose that's true," Lucy said after a moment of consideration. She turned to look at Lockwood, possibly to ask for his opinion, but Lockwood was staring off into space.

A tense silence hung in the kitchen which was only broken when the door to the basement swung open

"Lockwood, the paperwork is done, so if you want to go to Lucy's-" Holly stopped talking when she entered the kitchen,, looking between Lockwood and Quill with widening eyes. It seemed like she expected that at any moment one of them could attack the other.

"I didn't know you were still here, Quill," she started. Her eyes roamed through the kitchen, as if she was looking for a weapon to use if she needed to jump in between him and Lockwood.

"I was actually just leaving," Quill said, getting up from his chair.

"Oh, I see," Holly said, her shoulders dropping in relief. "Do you want me to walk you out?"

"No, I will Holly, thank you," Lockwood cut in, stepping away from the counter. Without another word he swept out of the kitchen, leaving Quill to follow behind. He gave Lucy's shoulder a squeeze as he passed her, and told her he'd call the following day before leaving the kitchen as well. As he closed the door behind him, he could hear Holly bombard Lucy with questions, and he sincerely hoped she wouldn't bring up the incident between him and Lockwood at the furnaces either.

Lockwood was waiting next to the front door, one hand already on the doorknob. He didn't look at Quill when he approached, keeping his eyes on the rug.

"I'm sorry," Lockwood said quietly. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the doorknob, but it was the only tell Quill could recognize today. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"And I shouldn't have goaded you like that," Quill replied with a sigh. He took a moment to brush back the short strands of hair that had finally given up their desperate attempt to stay styled and now rested on his forehead. "We're both old and wise enough not to turn this into another grudge, Lockwood."

Lockwood met his eyes and gave a short nod. He opened the door and stepped aside to let Quill through, nodding again as a send-off. Quill returned it and stepped out into the sunlight that lit Portland Row. He walked down the path to the main road, but when he was halfway stopped and turned back.

"Lockwood," he called. The door, which hadn't fully closed - opened again, and Lockwood frowned at him.

"What?"

"If you want Lucy to stay for good, tell her that. You might be surprised what a little honesty might do." With that he finally took his leave.

 **A/N: This might be my last fic for a while. I've got to focus on my studies, so I won't be writing as much as I usually do.**

 **I'd love to hear what you think though, so leave a comment or send me an ask on tumblr: thegirlfromthesea**


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